


I can do anything I want to, baby, I ain’t lost

by cashewdani



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 00:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2487179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cashewdani/pseuds/cashewdani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The most beautiful person that Nick has possibly ever seen says, “Henry and Daisy say happy birthday,” right before he leans in and kisses him.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can do anything I want to, baby, I ain’t lost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chivasintead1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chivasintead1/gifts).



“That’s what you’re wearing?” is the first thing Daisy says upon walking into his flat and Nick knows this button down isn’t his best, but he’s not sure it really deserves that kind of response.

Nick answers, “I could take offense to that, you know,” smoothing down his hands over the front of his top.

“No, just, we said that was the reason you were allowed to buy that Louis Vuitton. Because it was going to be a birthday blazer.”

That had been the plan, before Nick had gotten home and tried it on with his actual clothes and outside the flattering soft light of the Selfridges fitting room and then had to eat the half full bag of crisps in his cupboard that he’d tried to get Pixie to bring home with her specifically for this reason. Because it wasn’t fair that everyone else got to be fit and he looked like whatever it is he looked like.

“I like this shirt. I’ve pulled in this shirt,” Nick says, because he has. But Daisy’s look tells him she probably remembers how long ago that was now.

“But it’s your birthday bash! Want you to look absolutely smashing.”

“So wear the blazer?”

“Yes. Hands down the best thing in your closet for tonight. And you never know who you might meet.” She says that last part with a little waggle of her eyebrows and he loves and hates her in equal measure.

“Alright, enough with that now,” Nick chastises. “I’ll change.”

“Make it quick, you’ve got a big entrance scheduled for half past! Oh, and I’m finishing this,” she says, reaching for the vodka tonic he’d left sitting on the table.

Nick grumbles all the way to his bedroom.

\---

He’d been looking forward to his birthday when he’d started planning this out months ago, the guest list growing ever longer and the venue escalating to accomodate.

But the closer it got, the more he started to feel all these stupid kinds of things he’d used to take the mick out of his older friends for complaining about. _“I’m getting old.” “My life isn’t where I thought it’d be.” “What the fuck are these lines doing all over my face?”_ And he thought he had time, another year before this kind of stuff even came on the radar, but apparently not.

And now it seems dumb to be celebrating. _Hey, look at me not dying! Bring a gift because I don’t get spots any more, I guess? You know, except sometimes. Whatever. There will be alcohol_ is basically what his invitations should have read.

He pulls on the cuffs of the blazer and then pushes them up, only to repeat the maneuver another two times. _I like me. I like me not_ is what’s filtering through his head as the sleeves move across his forearms.

“Car’s not going to wait forever, love,” Daisy hollers out to him, and it appears he’s going with cuffs up. He repeats the _I like me not_ once more on the way out to the foyer though, even if he’s done messing with the outfit.

\---

They swing round to pick up Alexa, and he finally has time to respond to Ian’s increasingly annoyed rundown of every outfit and piece of jewelry that Aimee had tried on that evening in preparation, and honestly by the time they’ve reached the club, he’s far less maudlin.

It’s his fucking birthday and he’s not going to cry if he wants to.

He’s probably going to get horribly drunk and eat too much cake, but such is life.

Sadie is bringing him a very full glass and a plate with what appears to be even extra buttercream piled on it, and yes, sometimes that life is beautiful.

But before she can reach him he can distinctly hear his name being called. He turns, and there’s an incredibly stunning boy asking, “Nick?” again, not like he’s trying to get his attention, but like he’s trying to figure out if he’s met him before. 

Nick would certainly remember that. “Yeah,” he answers and he wished it didn’t sound so high pitched and like he was giving this kid permission to do whatever he wanted. He thinks for a second that maybe he’s being recognized him from the radio, or hosting, or DJ’ing or any of the ten million other things he does professionally, but he’d definitely have called him Grimmy if he did.

The most beautiful person that Nick has possibly ever seen says, “Henry and Daisy say happy birthday,” right before he leans in and kisses him.

\---

Nick kisses him back because he’s not an idiot and it’s his twenty-ninth birthday and the only time it would be stupider to turn this guy down would be if he was turning thirty.

His mouth is warm and tastes vaguely of cinnamon, and that might be why Nick feels like he’s slowly going to burst into flames, but that might also be because this gent definitely knows what he’s doing with his tongue.

They keep kissing until Nick starts thinking he’s going to need his puffer, and then a little bit after that because frankly Nick wouldn’t be so opposed to dying in this manner. He finally pulls back though, the little voice in the back of his mind that prefers oxygen even over snogging a very eligible Heat Hunk’s contender winning out. “I’m sorry what did you say your name was?” he breathlessly asks.

“Harry,” the boy laughs out, and he has dimples. Of course he fucking does. “Happy birthday!”

“Very happy indeed,” Nick says and Harry’s still smiling at him like he has no regrets at all about kissing him. “Wait, what did you say before? About Daisy and Henry?”

“They invited me tonight.”

So he’s probably a model then. Figures.

He has to ask, “But why’d you kiss me?” because there’s frankly no way at all something like this works out in his head.

“Well, you’re the birthday boy.”

“Yes, but still.”

Harry shrugs with this little smile like he knows something Nick doesn’t, and there’s the grossly disgusting second where he wonders if it’s that Harry thinks he’s beautiful even if Nick himself doesn’t. But that’s the kind of nonsense his mum would tell him when he was a teenager and much too thick to realize that’s just the rubbish your parents tell you because they love you. “Maybe it just seemed like the thing to do.”

“Okay, well, have a good night then. Enjoy the party,” Nick says, willing himself to be okay that he’s just saying goodnight to the guy who is probably going to walk in Henry’s next ten shows at least and has a set of lips that would look great around Nick’s dick.

Harry requests, “Wait! Let me buy you a drink first,” his fingers grazing at Nick’s wrist as he reaches out for him. Nick is so grateful he went with sleeves pushed up. “Since I accosted you just a little bit.”

“Sure. If you insist.”

He nods, his curls bouncing like he’s this generation’s fucking Shirley Temple. “I do.”

\---

“So what do you do then?” Nick asks, wondering just how rude it would be to suck one of the ice cubes from his glass into his mouth. He feels too hot with Harry making eye contact like there’s only the two of them here. He’s pretty sure he’s still sweating inside his shirt and it’s going to be a bitch to get dry cleaned.

Harry answers, “I’m in sales,”, smiling around one of those useless straws they give you that Harry is apparently going to try and use to drink his cocktail. It’s keeping all of Nick’s attention focused on his mouth, which he guesses is kind of the point.

“Oh, figured you’d be one of those catwalk or catalog lads.”

“And why’s that?” Harry questions, moving the plastic through his alcoholic Coke, his rings and a tattoo of a cross momentarily distracting Nick’s very focussed attention on Harry’s lips.

“Well, face like that,” Nick starts and Harry’s grin stretches a little wider, the perfect everything about his teeth peeking further into view. “And that you knew Daisy and Henry.”

Nodding, Harry pushes his hair back, only for it to almost immediately fall back where it was. It’s really a shame that he’s not being photographed for some ten page spread right at this moment. He clears his throat before saying, “Nope. Just sales.”

Nick cannot possibly imagine how anyone in his office could get any work done. Nick would have been fired within the first hour Harry was within the building for conduct unbecoming of a professional.

“You must be good at it then,” he says, motioning towards Harry’s shoes, which he knows from staring at them online definitely cost more pounds than he could ever have reasonably spent on something he’d use to walk through dog piss with.

Harry’s laughing again, and he’s so incredibly endearing that Nick can barely stand it. “I’ve gotten very few complaints. You want another?”

Nick glances down and realizes he’s apparently almost finished his vodka soda. He rotates the dregs in the bottom of the glass, his bracelets clinking against the condensation. “Not right now.”

“I like this one,” Harry says, once again running his fingers along the skin near Nick’s hand as he touches one of the bangles Fiona’d given him for Christmas.

“A gift from my producer for a job well done,” Nick explains, wishing there was some reason for Harry to reach out and touch him again.

“Finchy bought you a bracelet?” Harry asks before getting a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry, that probably sounds a little bit like I’m a stalker. But, I, um, yeah. I listen to your show. Sometimes. After work.”

“Before, don’t you mean?”

He scrubs at his chin. “Right. Right. Before work, I meant.”

Nick doesn’t like how Harry seems to be going kind of quiet and jittery. “But, while Matt Fincham buying my jewelry is now my favorite thing to picture, it was actually from Fiona.”

“She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

“The loveliest,” Nick answers.

“Don’t let L’il Ian hear that,” Harry says, the smile coming back to his face and Nick can’t wait to tell Aimee all about this later.

\---

So, Harry might be fit as fuck but he’s a _terrible_ dancer. Nick had no idea that someone who seemed so smooth could be so incredibly awkward in motion.

“I think you’re part octopus,” Nick screams in his ear, over the music, which is definitely not what he’d be playing right now if he was up in the booth.

“Only the best parts, obviously,” is what he thinks Harry says back, reaching for Nick’s hips.

He lets himself be pulled closer.

\---

Nick’s sweaty and his ears are ringing and he’s pretty sure that he’s never going to get his neighbor’s spilled Cosmo off the hem of these trousers, but he’s honestly not sure of the last time he felt this good.

“Okay, best fruit,” he asks, trying to unsuccessfully for the third time get a little paper umbrella to stay behind Harry’s ear.

“Banana. Always go banana.”

Nick chastises, “You cheeky little flirt,” as the umbrella once again tumbles out against the table.

“No! I honestly like them. Best reality show?” he fires back.

“Like I could possibly choose.”

“But that’s the point of the whole game!” Harry says.

“Oh this is a game then? What are the stakes?”

“Loser’s the one who has to text the other one their number.”

Nick’s not sure that’s really a loss for either of them. “Alright, fine, deal. _Great British Bake Off_ then.”

“Ehhhhh,” Harry makes a sound like a buzzer. “Wrong. Obviously _X-Factor_ is the best.”

“I didn’t know there were wrong answers in naming your favorites.”

“There are if you’re not picking _X-Factor_. Alright, another to redeem yourself. Best person to hang out with at your birthday party?”

Nick smirks, “I know you want me to say you.”

“Well, yes, I want you to be honest,” Harry smirks right back. “And it’s not like you’ve really been with anyone else tonight.”

Harry’s not wrong. “Fine, you,” he says. “Best birthday you’ve ever been to?”

“Oh, Nathan Crawley’s in year 6,” Harry answers. “Hands down.”

Nick punches him in the arm.

\---

Nick’s the one who wins, he’s not entirely sure how, maybe just because it’s his birthday or because Harry’s had another round by then, but Harry’s the one who is fishing his phone from his pocket, jostling repeatedly into Nick’s thigh in the process.

“Alright, go slow with your number,” he says, before looking down at the mobile and frowning. “Shit.”

“What?” Nick asks. “Battery dying?” because he can see that it still lit up. In fact he can see the reminders right there on the screen. One most specifically because his name is in it. _Nick Grimshaw. 8pm, Shoreditch, PAID_

Harry says, “It’s the wrong mobile,” before he realizes Nick has read the screen.

“It’s your work mobile, isn’t it?”

And then he looks up, and it’s clearly obvious Nick has seen. “Fuck, oh, Nick. Fuck. I’m so sorry. Don’t… I don’t want you to think...”

“No, it’s okay, it’s fine,” he answers, because he’s had enough to drink that this actually seems a little funny. “This is definitely a kind of sales.”

“Oh god, I’m mortified. Please don’t be offended.”

“What? That my friends bought your time as the saddest gift ever?” The ‘Daisy and Henry say happy birthday’ line suddenly makes a lot more sense. “Fuck, no wonder she wanted me to wear this blazer.”

“I like the blazer. A lot actually.”

“Was that extra to say you liked it?” Nick asks. “What’s that go for, 20 quid?” He thinks he should sound angry, but he seems to only be curious.

“It was just the kiss and an hour, that was it. And well, that ended,” he clicks the light on his phone again. “About two hours ago.” Harry reaches out, again for Nick’s wrist. He has a major thing for the place that Nick’s hands become his arms. “I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You’re not taking the piss, right? You’re being honest about being off the clock?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to go. I’ve liked hanging out with you.” And maybe Harry’s just the best liar in the world, but Nick doesn’t think people can make themselves blush like that on command. “But, I’ll go. I’m sorry if this ruined the party. I’m such an idiot.”

“No, you’re not. And you’re not going anywhere. You’re going to take my number and put another round of top shelf shots on either Daisy or Henry’s tab and meet me back here in just a few minutes.”

“I really am sorry.”

“None of that now. I still need to hear more about your band’s first gig and your worst haircut. Back in a mo’.” He squeezes Harry’s hand, which he hopes is okay, before he goes to murder his friends.

\---

“How much are you paying him?” Nick asks, and it’s nice that they at least have the decency to look incredulous. Daisy’s a little better at it than Henry. “No, honestly, I want to know how much a fit looking boy like him goes for now a days.”

“So you do like him then? I knew from how he was still here. We had three more to interview but Gellz put a stop to it,” Henry says right before Daisy elbows him in the ribs.

“Wanker,” she directs at him, before turning her attention back to Nick. “It started out as a joke? Like, we thought it would be funny after that night we read about that site on Buzzfeed, remember? When you wanted to send someone to Collette’s house with a box of chocolates and a box of condoms--”

“Yeah, but I never followed through with that! Because it’s mean!”

Daisy asks, “What’s mean about inviting a really charming, fit guy to your birthday party? I honestly thought you might hit it off. He seems sweet.”

She’s not wrong, Harry is sweet if he’s nothing else. “Well, you didn’t invite a charming, fit guy to my birthday party! You paid him to show up!”

“Is he a good kisser?” Henry tries to change the topic.

Nick sighs. “And so what if he is?”

“I’d say in that case you owe us a thank you instead of this strop.”

“Oh fuck you both,” Nick says, stalking away from their booth.

“You’re welcome,” Henry calls after, and even with how loud it is in here, he can still hear Daisy laughing.

\---

“Thanks for coming back. I’ve got my ATM card if this round is coming out as extra,” Nick says when he returns to their booth, trying to make it light, but not sure if he’s actually being offensive.

Harry shakes his head, and holds out a present with an extremely lopsided bow on top. “I forgot before but here. Many happy returns.”

“You bought me a gift?” Nick asks, honestly touched and feeling very much like an asshole.

“Well, it’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

He mumbles, “Yeah, but I thought you were the gift.”

Harry laughs and Nick likes the way it makes his eyes light up until his hair falls in front of them. “Still. Seemed wrong to come empty handed.”

Nick shreds the wrapping like the true monster he is and underneath there’s a quite strange looking box. “Are these honestly mugs shaped like toilets?”

He looks up and there’s the most bashful expression waiting to greet him.

“I don’t know. Well, no, I do know that they’re mugs shaped like toilets, but just, yeah, I don’t know why I bought them? Except, I listened to the show the other day where Fincham was giving you a hard time about how you’re impossible to shop for, and how it’s hard to get something for the person who seems to have everything and I just figured, well, he probably doesn’t have these. You don’t, do you?”

“God, no, I don’t think anyone has these.” He turns the box over in his hands, and yes, alright, someone gave Harry a cheque to be here at first, but he wouldn’t have brought this if he hadn’t wanted to. He liked some piece of Nick before he’d come. And he still likes some piece of him now. So maybe this is going to be okay.

“It’s dumb, you don’t have to keep them.”

“Oh, not only am I keeping them, we’re drinking out of them right now. Barkeep,” he yells, even though they’re so far away from the actual bar. “Toilets filled with Grey Goose immediately!”

“I’ve had that Sunday morning,” Harry tells him, and Nick laughs until he knows he’s red in the face and there are tears in the corners of his eyes.

\---

“Are you going to be mad at Daisy and Henry for long?” Harry asks, when they’re barely upright any more in the booth. “I don’t want you to be.”

The lights are going to be coming up soon and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to start his research tonight on whether he’s still young enough to eat a kebab before bed without sicking it up in the morning.

“I’m barely even mad now.”

“That’s good,” Harry says, sleepily, against Nick’s chest where he’s leaning. “Because I’m really happy they picked me.”

Nick nods in response. “Me too.”

“And you’re sure you don’t care about, well, you know.”

“What you do?” Nick pushes.

“Yeah,” Harry says, nice and quiet.

“Nah, especially if it’s what brought you here tonight.” Because Nick knows weird things happen every day and he’s usually the rule instead of the exception.

He feels Harry roll his head, up and away, and then he’s looking at Nick right in the face. “Can I kiss you again? Like for real? Not because they’re paying me to?”

Nick doesn’t answer. He just presses his mouth against Harry’s.


End file.
